Hands Free
by Carrieosity
Summary: An accident leaves Cas somewhat incapacitated, and he's reluctant to admit he needs help. Dean is more than willing to lay down the law to see his injured boyfriend heal. (Follow-up to "Understanding That Reference." A smutty little installment in the lives of Librarian Castiel and his very favorite patron, Dean.)


"Hello?"

"Hello, we're trying to reach Dean Winchester. Is this Mr. Winchester?"

"Yes, I'm him."

"This is the emergency department at Lawrence Memorial Hospital. We're calling because you were listed as an emergency contact for Castiel Novak. He was brought in from an auto accident –"

"I'm on my way."

* * *

"I don't even understand how this happened!" Dean paced the waiting room, stopping to stare wide-eyed at Sam, who had been hanging out at Dean's apartment when the call had come from the hospital. "It's not even noon! Cas was working at the library this morning. How the hell do you get in a car accident in a library?"

"I don't know, Dean," Sam answered for the tenth time since they had received the news. "Maybe it happened while he was on his way to work?"

"Couldn't have. We'd have heard before now if it had happened that early," Dean said, resolutely putting aside the idea that the accident had been so serious that the responders had been unable to learn Cas's identity or emergency information until now. "And he packs a lunch, so even if he had been on his lunch break, which he wasn't, he wouldn't have been in his car. So what the hell?"

As he resumed his pacing, a woman in a conservative grey suit entered through the glass doors behind him and briskly approached the registration desk in the corner. "I'm looking for a patient. Mr. Novak? He would have been brought here a few hours ago." Dean stopped his nervous movements, eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Are you a family member?"

"No, I am his employer. He was injured while working."

"How?" Dean couldn't stop himself from interjecting. The woman turned toward him in surprise, lifting an eyebrow. "How does a librarian get banged up in a car accident _on the job_?"

"In the Bookmobile," she smoothly responded. "And you are…?"

"Cas's boyfriend," Dean said. "And since when does he work in the Bookmobile?" Dean had seen the bright pink bus, decorated with cartoon owls holding books and magazines, driving around town, but as far as he knew, it had its own staff. Cas had never even mentioned it.

"He doesn't, typically. We're a bit short-handed in our smaller branches, with staff members sick and on vacations, so Castiel was covering for our usual Bookmobile librarian. There was an accident with a truck – I've spent all morning trying to piece things together." She did appear flustered, though only slightly; she gave the impression of someone accustomed to appearing composed and unruffled.

The nurse at the desk cleared her throat. "Well, Mr. Novak is still with the doctors, having some x-rays, but he should be cleared and able to see visitors soon. It doesn't look as though he's going to be admitted, so as soon as the doctor says he's okay to leave, you'll be able to take him home. Mr. Winchester, I assume you'll be driving him?"

Dean startled at being addressed directly. "Yeah, of course. So he's fine?"

The nurse smiled. "You know I can't speak to that; you've been asking me since you got here. The doctor can give you that information when you see him. But that shouldn't be much longer."

Dean sighed and walked back across the room to Sam. Castiel's boss stood quietly with eyes closed and, with visible effort, appeared to be trying to regain her level of professional serenity. Sam suddenly snorted softly, and Dean turned to him in confusion. "What?"

"Just wondering how a driver manages to accidentally hit a huge, pink bus. It's not like you could miss seeing it." Sam chuckled. He had pulled out his phone and begun texting back and forth with his news reporters once he had heard the details of the accident; the story had already reached the writer's desk of the paper where Sam was an editor. "That's what the guy is saying, though. He was making a left hand turn, and apparently he 'didn't see' the Bookmobile coming toward him in the other direction. Looks like it was a pretty slow-moving accident, though, with not too much damage. You can stop fretting about Cas; they probably just wanted to check him out thoroughly."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dean felt his shoulders begin to unknot. He had been on the edge of terror since the call came, and the nurse's refusal to divulge any details had led to him assuming a host of horrible scenarios. He was about to flop into the seat beside his brother when the door beside the desk opened. "Mr. Winchester? You can come on back now."

When the curtain opened to reveal Castiel in his narrow bed, Dean felt the knots abruptly return, bringing extra friends along with them. Both of Cas's arms were encased in splints, one running from his upper arm to wrist, and the other covering his forearm and several fingers. Most dramatically, both his eyes were moderately blackened, apparently from a blow to his nose, the bridge of which was swollen. "Cas!" Dean cried. He rushed to the side of the bed, then floundered as to how to touch his boyfriend without hurting him. He settled for gently pushing the hair back from his forehead, kissing his temple before resting his own head against it.

"You should see the other guy," Castiel croaked, trying for a smile, and then wincing when his nose crinkled. Dean huffed a short laugh and shook his head slightly.

"How did you manage to do all this?" Dean said. "Sam saw the police report – they said it wasn't that bad a crash!"

"I was stupid," Cas sighed. He sounded reluctant to confess, but Dean lifted his head and furrowed his brow at him, waiting. Cas shrugged uncomfortably. "The driver made a tight turn, and I heard the books shift in the back. I didn't want them to fall and damage their spines, so I got up to adjust them. I was doing that when we were hit. I got hurt falling into the shelves and against the door."

"Castiel!" The sharp female voice behind them made Dean jump and Cas wince. Castiel's boss made her way to the other side of the bed, heels clicking sharply. "Procedure says that staff must remain seated and restrained while the Bookmobile is moving! You know better!"

"Yes, Naomi, I am aware," Cas said in a tight voice. "And if I was not aware before this, I certainly am now. As I said, it was a stupid mistake."

"Well, at least you're all right, for the most part," she said briskly. "What did the doctor say?"

"I'm fine," he said. Dean and Naomi both looked at the splints on his arms, sporting matching expressions of extreme skepticism. "I am! They said there were no broken bones."

"Actually, Mr. Novak," said the doctor entering the room, "I explained that there were no _definitive_ breaks. There are signs of possible fractures, though, which is why you'll be wearing those immobilizers until you can be seen by an orthopedist. You should do that as soon as possible." He handed a clipboard to Castiel. "There's an office number here, on your discharge papers."

"What about his face?" Dean asked, gesturing. The injury was difficult for him to look at, as painful as it had to be for Cas.

"No breaks in the nose. Just ice it regularly, treat the pain."

"And I'm otherwise fine, correct?" Cas insisted doggedly. He was concerned about the look on Dean's face, the one that indicated that he was about to be fussed over and smothered within an inch of his life. "I can be up and about, go to work?"

"No, you may certainly _not_ go to work," Naomi firmly stated. At Castiel's pained expression, she rolled her eyes. "Even were you able to use a computer or carry a book right now, I will not be seen as the director who forces her employees to work wounded. We'll likely have people coming in to ask about the accident, anyway; I don't need them gasping over this, too. Stay home the rest of the week, and then we'll talk. I'll handle the board." She patted his shoulder briefly, then turned and left.

"The very soul of compassion," Cas muttered.

Dean rolled his eyes. "But not wrong. You're staying home, Cas. Actually, you're staying at _my_ place." Cas frowned up at him, and Dean turned to the doctor. "You tell him. He's got two potentially broken arms. Am I right, here?"

"Let your boyfriend help you," the doctor said with a smile. Dean met Cas's glare with a triumphant gleam in his eye.

* * *

"Dean, the doctor said to help me, not wrap me in bubble wrap." Castiel was feeling grouchier by the minute. His painkillers had kicked in somewhat, easing the painful aches that he was determined not to tell Dean he was feeling. The visible injuries were bad enough; if Dean knew he was hurting, the caretaker act would reach unbearable levels. Despite the lessening of actual pain, though, Cas was miserable. His arms _itched_ , and he couldn't have scratched through the splints even if he had a working hand to spare. He could possibly have used one hand adequately to turn the pages of a propped-up book, but his swollen eyes made it difficult to see clearly enough to read small print. His nerves were still jangling too much to consider eating, and he was feeling horribly guilty about the poor decision that had put him in this position.

On top of everything, Dean had brought him straight back to his apartment and insisted that he go immediately to bed. Cas was too grumpy to be tired, and his body was still tense with lingering adrenaline. He huffed in annoyance, picking at the blanket with his fingertips.

"I am helping," Dean called from the living room in an oddly strained voice. A moment later, he came through the door with his arms full of television. He set it down on the dresser facing the bed. "Good thing I don't have an enormous TV, so I can move it in here for you. So, Netflix, popcorn, beverages? Doctor says you can't have alcohol with your painkillers, so you want me to make you one of your hippy tea drinks?" Dean had thoughtfully started keeping a box of herbal teas in his cabinet for Castiel, though he refused to drink them himself.

"Yes, please," Cas said tightly. He didn't feel ready to stop being cranky yet, but it was hard to stay irritable when squaring up against gentle grins and sparkling green eyes. Cas glared at the wallpaper instead, which had done nothing wrong other than be slightly dated.

Dean grabbed the snacks and drinks, then returned to settle on the bed beside Cas. Cas noted that Dean didn't lean close into his side, as he usually did, and that made him feel even more unhappy. He might be perfectly fine – he was! – but that didn't mean that he wasn't having a wretched day that called for a little reassuring intimacy. Cas tried to scoot closer to Dean, who paused in scrolling through the Netflix menus.

"You comfortable? Here, let me help fix that," he said, adjusting the pillows to support Castiel's elbows. It unfortunately had the added effect of creating an extra barrier between them, and Cas drooped sadly but decided not to say anything. He didn't want to admit to feeling weak.

"This is an excellent opportunity," Dean was saying. "When's the last time you watched pure trash television? You never just let your brain have any downtime, and now you have the chance to do that! Besides, your pills will probably keep you from focusing on any heavy plots, so this is perfect." When Cas sighed and nodded, Dean started an episode of a soapy hospital drama, which Cas tuned out almost immediately.

He was uninterested in television. He sipped at the tea when Dean held it to his lips, studying Dean's face from beneath hooded lids. It was obvious that Dean was happy to care for him; Cas knew that his boyfriend naturally slipped into the role of protector as easily as he slipped into his soft overshirt. It was ordinarily an attractive quality, so long as he remembered to allow Cas to care for him in return. The problem, Cas realized, was that right now he didn't want to be _nursed_. He wanted to be _comforted_.

Careful of his arm between them, Cas leaned toward Dean again, stretching his neck to kiss his jawline. Dean hummed happily but didn't take his eyes from the screen as he linked his hand over Cas's. Frustrated, Cas tried again, this time running the tip of his tongue up the side of Dean's neck, enjoying the warmth and salty taste of his skin. This time, Dean turned to look at him, amusement on his face.

"Feeling bored with this already, babe?" he said. "Is it the show, or is it the bedrest?"

"Neither," Cas growled. "Both. Stop treating me like an invalid and kiss me already."

"Always happy to oblige," murmured Dean with a smirk. He gently met Cas's lips with his own, mindful of the splints as he held himself cautiously away from them. Cas immediately began escalating the kiss into something less gentle, caressing the seam of Dean's lips with his tongue in a plea for more. He wished desperately that he could use his hands to pull Dean closer; not being able to grip and hold was maddening.

Dean allowed the kiss to grow more heated for a moment, but to Cas's deep frustration, he pulled back. "Cas, babe, you're hurt. You need to be resting, not…that."

"I can do both." A blush bloomed on Castiel's face. He felt embarrassed by the weight of his need, and he didn't want to try to discuss the maelstrom of emotions roiling through his mind. He wanted to stop thinking entirely. "Dean, please."

Dean appeared dubious, but he didn't say anything as he looked at Cas thoughtfully. Finally he shrugged. "Okay, fine. But I have conditions. You are _not_ going to move those arms. Doctor says keep them still, so that's what you do. Got it?"

Cas grimaced. "Deal."

A sudden mirthful expression lit Dean's face. "Turnabout's fair play, isn't it? I'm usually the one in your position, but tonight…" With a wicked glint in his eyes, he lifted himself onto his knees and crawled over Castiel's lap. "Tonight, you're the one who has to follow instructions." He hovered a long moment, bare inches between their lips, teasing Cas with proximity before finally giving him the kiss Cas wanted. It was still more gentle than he craved, but Dean was conscious of the injuries to Cas's face, keeping careful distance between their noses.

After a few minutes of tongues caressing and soft noises escaping, Cas felt Dean's hands travel from his neck down his shoulders and to the front of his shirt. His fingers began slowly unbuttoning, tracing the bared skin as they worked, and it took every bit of his strength not to reach for Dean with his own hands. The splints might as well have been handcuffs, he thought; he continually tested the weight of them to remind himself that they were there and that he had made a promise to respect them. When Dean's mouth left his own and began to follow the path of his hands, Cas groaned under that promise.

Dean chuckled at the sound, pausing. When Cas didn't attempt to lift his arms, he murmured something that sounded suspiciously like "Good boy" against Cas's skin. Not waiting for Cas to react, he turned his head and latched his teeth around a newly freed nipple, making Cas gasp. (If the brief facial contortion he couldn't help made his nose throb, Cas wasn't about to complain, and Dean was thankfully too preoccupied to notice.)

"Dean," Cas cried, feeling helpless against the twin sensations of mouth and fingers pinching and soothing at his chest. The itchiness beneath his splints was long forgotten; his hazy mind suggested that his doctor should have put _this_ on his discharge instructions instead. When his nipples had reached a nearly unbearable state of sensitivity, Dean lowered his hands to the waistband of Cas's trousers, running the tips of his fingers inside mischievously before unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly.

"Mr. Novak, your heart seems to be racing," Dean said, feigning concern as he reached into Castiel's boxers and released his now painfully hard cock. Stroking slowly, he quirked an eyebrow. "You're flushed and sweating, too. As your doctor, I must recommend further examination." He spoiled the act slightly by snorting at his own humor before dropping his head and taking nearly the entire length into his mouth.

Cas felt nearly feverish as Dean worked him, never letting him predict the next move. Swirls of tongue, quick slides of lips, vibrating hums…Dean pulled out all the stops in providing the most intense blowjob Cas had ever received in his life. Groans and whimpers escaped his mouth, growing louder as he surrendered further to Dean's ministrations; he stopped feeling the need to grasp and lead, accepting Dean's dominance over the situation. When Dean finally took him as deep as he could, hollowing his cheeks and sucking while simultaneously reaching up and pinching _hard_ at a nipple, Cas shouted and came hard, fingers twitching uselessly at his sides. Dean kept swallowing throughout, coaxing Cas through the end of his orgasm until the last tremors left his thighs.

Sitting up on his knees, Dean beamed at the sight of his lover, looking peaceful for the first time that day. "Was that what the doctor ordered?" he cracked.

"It was so perfect, I'll forgive your sense of humor," Cas smiled in exhaustion. "I think you enjoyed that bit of power play more than I expected."

"Uh, more than we both expected, really," Dean said, cheeks reddening slightly as he gestured to the front of his pants, which were decidedly damp. "Dude, that was completely hot. Never thought I'd get to be the one to have you at my mercy instead of the other way around." He grinned happily.

"Yes, well," Castiel said, yawning suddenly around a chuckle. The events of the day were finally catching up to him, as the last of the adrenaline drained away and left him feeling bone-deep exhaustion. "We'll see who's feeling merciful once I'm out of these splints…" He yawned again, and Dean laughed.

"You bet," he said softly, as Cas fought to keep his eyes from closing. "Now get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up." In his last moments of awareness, Cas felt the blissful warmth of Dean's body curling against his side, cradling the injured arm between them. He smiled as he drifted into dreams.


End file.
